Fifteen Years
by Youngauthor27
Summary: Fifteen years; a relationship in retrospect. **This is a companion piece to *We Were, We Are* All warnings posted inside.**
1. Fifteen

**I claim no rights to 'Harry Potter' nor any characters or situations derived therefrom. I really don't think I'd enjoy being famous anyway.**

**Warnings:** Slash (non-graphic)/ AU *This piece is unbeta'd*

**Notes:** This is a companion piece to 'We Were, We Are'. It is not necessary to have read that piece beforehand as I have each 'year' written as a sort of preface to its corresponding chapter. These are *drabbles*, as my intent with the original piece was to try and convey as much emtion as possible in the few words I'd chosen. Each sentence was based off a snapshot; a mental image of a singular event that conveyed the underlying emotions of the two characters during that period of time. These are the snapshots.

* * *

_'We were fifteen and curious; feather light touches of trembling lips and pounding pulses that left us nervous and blushing and tongue-tied...'_

He couldn't comprehend how he had lived before Chocolate Frogs.

It wasn't the taste, really, as Honeydukes' Original far outstripped them there. No, it was the sense of satisfaction that came from the methodical act of tearing open the package and managing to wrangle the charmed treat into your mouth; the feel of what had once been squirming and squabbling melting on your tongue in a sweet rush of warmth. It was the knowledge more than the substance, mental more than physical, and it made the little piece of candy worth every sickle. His eyes fluttered closed and he groaned.

Ron's breath caught. "That good, eh?"

Harry didn't bother to look up, just nodded his head.

Ron suddenly found himself short of breath as he watched his friend, his throat gone dry and his tongue a lead weight as it stuck heavy to the roof of his mouth.

He'd kissed him before he realized what he'd done.

Harry's eyes were wide as disks when he pulled away, blushing to the roots of his hair and stuttering like a fool. "I… I'm sorry, I… I didn't… you just…" and then he was gone, a flurry of robes disappearing up the staircase.

Harry frowned; the tip of his nose tingling and his eyelids heavy. He licked his lips.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Peace, everyone.


	2. Sixteen

**See ch.1 for disclaimer**

**Warnings:** Slash/ Graphic Sexual Content

* * *

_'We were sixteen and terrified; everyone says your first time is awful, and they were right...'_

The hangings were drawn, a silencing charm blanketed the bed; Harry writhed beneath Ron's pale frame. In the past twelve months their stilted and shy caresses had evolved into deep, soul searching embraces; from quick, furious wanks to long languorous nights spent touching and teasing and tasting.

The experimentation phase was over; they knew nearly everything there was to know about each other. Everything except…

…_That_.

And _That_ was precisely what was going to happen tonight.

Harry reached up, pulling the red head closer and wrapping his legs around his waist; the angle changed and he could feel the wet, hot tip of Ron's cock sliding between his cheeks, rubbing his entrance. He shivered. "Please." He whispered.

Ron swallowed hard, nodded; he had no idea what he was doing, but it couldn't be that difficult. He'd heard the guys talk about sex before; sex with girls, yes, but sex all the same. It couldn't be much different; sex was sex, just put it in and go. So he did.

Harry bit his lip but it did nothing to muffle his scream. He threw his head back against the pillows, the tendons in his neck straining a harsh white against the red flush of his skin as his arse clenched against the brutal intrusion.

Ron cried out as the muscle clamped around his cock like a flaming vice, discomfort bordering on pain completely eclipsing the pleasure of orgasm as he came immediately. Harry grimaced, tasting blood as he felt wet heat bloom inside him like insult atop injury; Ron stilled and twitched above him, his own face flushed, eyes shut tight before he collapsed atop his friend.

Harry grunted and pushed him off, his half hard cock slipping out of his abused arse and it was all he could do not to scream again. He threw himself back against the sheets and searched for his wand, assured that Ron's come wasn't the only thing seeping down his thighs. His hand closed around the smooth holly and he sent a quick healing and scouring charm in their direction; it did nothing to stop the pounding ache, however. He reached over, shoved Ron's shoulder and frowned at the answering snore.

"Stupid blighter." He mumbled as he sat up, wincing, slipped between the hangings and made his way to his own bed.


	3. Seventeen

**See ch.1 for disclaimer.**

**Warnings:** (Implied) Slash/Het/Threesome/ Tobacco Use/ Character Death

* * *

_'We were seventeen and fighting a war; we all needed a little human contact, a little comfort. Back then we took it wherever we could find it...'_

He pulled the flap and stepped out into cool twilight; he was late for his shift but he didn't see how it much mattered.

They were headed back come morning; they'd burry Neville when they got there. He shook his head, lit a cigarette and set off across camp.

Ron and Hermione slept on behind him, wound together in tight embrace to fend off the cold, the dismay and the fear. He longed to be back in there with them, just for a few hours peace; to be able to forget, no matter how brief the respite.

He passed the fire; Mad Eye was sat outside his tent, his gaze scanning the skies. He nodded as he passed; he didn't think the man ever slept.

The ground shifted, rose upward; he ascended the hillock and took his place.

"Alright there, Harry?"

He didn't answer.

One last drag; he threw the cigarette down and crushed it beneath his trainer.

He looked at his friend, her normally bright hair was dull gray and lifeless. "Sorry I'm late." He whispered.

Tonks shrugged as she looked him over; her smile was small and slow to come. "Your shirt's on backwards."

It was his turn to shrug.

"Your fly's undone as well."

He checked; it wasn't. He shook his head slowly and returned her smile; the two settled in for their shift on watch.


	4. Eighteen

**See ch.1 for disclaimer**

**Warnings:** Slash/ Alcohol Use

_

* * *

_

_'We were eighteen and it was over; so many deaths. We needed each other more then than we ever had before...'_

"To Collin."

Harry raised his glass to the stars, from the corner of his eye saw Ron do the same; the whiskey burned all the way down.

"To Neville." Ron said.

The memorial service had been far more depressing than the actual passing of their friends and family; then again, at the time they had passed they hadn't had time to linger or mourn. He supposed the celebrating would have to wait.

The glasses refilled themselves.

"To Dumbledore." Harry whispered and swallowed.

"To Snape." Ron said gently; the cicadas sang, Harry quirked an eyebrow.

"He was a git." Ron whispered. "A spiteful, greasy, git… but he was a good man." He inclined his head and downed the shot and Harry let out a sob that shook the trees. "Aye." He choked on the word and slung back his shot.

They were quiet for a long time; Ron listened as Harry's cries softened in the night air. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do now." he whispered; his voice seemed far away, lost, just like he felt. Harry turned on his side, staring at his friend; he dropped his glass and reached for him, pulling him close and sealing their lips together. His voice was rough and he spoke with conviction. "We'll figure it out; together."

Ron wanted to nod his head, smile, anything to affirm that he believed what Harry was saying, but he couldn't. He pulled away and rolled back to lie in the grass, Harry followed suit.

The glasses refilled themselves.

The green eyed survivor raised his. "To Mum and Dad…"


	5. Nineteen

*See ch.1 for disclaimer.*

**Warnings:** (Implied) Slash/Threesome/Alcohol Use

***** Thanks to Euclidian.*****

* * *

_'We were nineteen and having fun; we'd lost so many years, so much time, we owed it to ourselves...'_

His head was literally splitting, he was sure of it. He could feel the warm, damp patch beneath his cheek; blood and gray matter no doubt, leaking from the crack in his skull.

He raised his head.

No; just drool then.

He grimaced and pulled himself up. It was all wrong, he was staring at Ron's feet, no, not Ron's; his red head was poking out from beneath duvet at the… headboard? He looked around; why was he upside down? And whose feet were these?

He fell back onto the sheets, his head spinning violently; he raised his hands to his temples and pressed, trying to keep everything still. He was sure if his brain would just stay put for two seconds he would be able to remember what had happened last night.

He gave it up as a bad job, tried to disentangle himself from the sheets, fell off the bed, struggled free and stumbled into the washroom where he promptly expelled the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

It was nothing but dry heaves at the end; he sat heavily on the floor, rested against the bathtub, the tile cool against his skin. He pulled his knees up and in and felt the prickle of dried come on his thighs and arse; he felt sick and sore, utterly filthy and used.

He looked back at the bedroom; Ron was staring at him, his eyes bright, he smiled. Harry couldn't help but return it; his head fell back against the edge of the tub, he continued to stare.

They weren't lying in tents in some god forsaken field, afraid for their lives and unable to mourn for the ones who'd lost theirs, too tired and paranoid to sleep and ready to drop from exhaustion; no one was dead.

He sighed as another wave of nausea swept through him; if this was the only pain he had to live with… well, hangover potion was relatively cheap anyway.


	6. Twenty

*See ch.1 for disclaimer.*

**Warnings:** (Implied) Slash/ Coarse Language

*With special thanks to Euclidian.*

* * *

'_We were twenty and older than our years; suddenly our arrangement wasn't enough...'_

"Again?"

Ron stood in the doorway, his head rested against the frame. "I'm tired."

Harry's smile was confused. "You're never that tired."

Ron shrugged a shoulder. "I've a headache."

Harry stared, frowning. "Look if you don't want to do it just say so, you don't have to make up-"

"I don't want to, then."

Harry stared a moment longer in the silence then smiled coyly, his hand reached for the waist of Ron's trousers. "Come on," He whispered. "You can get top."

Ron shook his head, pulled out of his reach.

Harry sighed, dropped his hand. "What, Ron?" he asked angrily. "You don't want to fuck me, don't want to me to fuck you, what do you want? Feeling a bit lazy? Want me to suck you off? Or would you rather we just sit across the room and stare at each other while we wank ourselves raw!"

Ron watched his friend quietly. "You finished?"

Harry shook his head. "It's just a shag Ron!"

"I know." Ron whispered and shut his door.


	7. Twentyone

*See ch.1 for disclaimer.*

**Warnings:** Coarse Language

*With special thanks to Euclidian.*

* * *

_'We were twenty-one and he had moved on; he "needed stability" he'd said and I was anything but...'_

Harry saw it for what it was; an intrusion, a derailment, a swift and vicious end to his life, to _their_ lives. No one would say it but it was understood; his and Ron's relationship would never be the same after this.

Her name was Adrienne.

Tall, thin, black hair, blue eyes and pale as a fucking corpse; a vampire, ready to suck the life right out of them.

Ron was all fumbling smiles and giddy excitement as he made introductions.

Harry flashed a too white smile, the one he usually saved for reporters, the one that said '_I've killed before, don't think I won't do it again,_' and she shook his proffered hand.

Cold and clammy, limp, like holding a dead fish.

He felt sick; Ron was much too good for this.

And then he looked at him; Ron's blue eyes wide and hopeful, begging him to understand, to approve, to let him go and he felt his resolve crumble. He drew a breath, steadied himself.

"It's a pleasure, Adrienne."


	8. Twentytwo

*See ch.1 for disclaimer.*

**Warnings:** (Implied) Slash

*With special thanks to Euclidian.*

* * *

'_We were twenty-two and I was staring at a ring; he smiled at me as he took it from my palm and slipped it onto his fiancé's finger...'_

He tried to arrange his features to reflect a sense of pride and happiness as the minister droned endlessly on about love and devotion and fidelity, the sacred bond of holy matrimony and the union of two hearts becoming one but it was all he could do not to scream as he realized this was really happening.

He had known things would change the moment Ron had brought her home and he had been right. Things were different between them; their relationship just wasn't what it had been.

And it wasn't just the shagging, though he missed it, that wasn't what he pined for. It was the closeness, the openness. They knew each other, understood each other, in ways no other, no matter how close they were, could fathom; but now…

Now he had Adrienne, and it was like there was this part of him that he hid away, sealed, for her eyes only and he hated her for it. But more than that, he hated himself because he realized now, too late, what he had been too stupid and selfish to understand then.

Ron took the ring, and Harry watched as the man he loved married someone else.


	9. Twentythree

*See ch.1 for disclaimer.*

**Warnings:** Alcohol Use

*With special thanks to Euclidian.*

* * *

_'We were twenty-three and he was drowning in firewhiskey; the divorce was final and what were best mates for...?'_

"'S hot in here." Ron slurred.

"No, it isn't."

"I'm roastin'." He tugged at his collar.

"You've had half a bottle of Ogden's in less than thirty minutes."

Ron blushed and giggled. "Yeah." He rubbed at his face, dropped his hand to his lap and stared at his friend.

His smile faded, twisted grotesquely, his eyes dark and welling over.

Harry reached out. "I'm sorry mate." He whispered into red hair.

Ron wept.


	10. Twentyfour

*See ch.1 for disclaimer.*

**Warnings:** Slash

*With special thanks to Euclidian.*

* * *

_'__We were twenty-four and he was pushing me away; that part of our relationship had ended a long time ago...'_

Ron stood by the hearth, cloak in hand.

"Thanks for tonight. It was really good."

"'Course it was. I'm a bloody good cook."

Ron's eyes were bright, his smile warm as he laughed and Harry had never seen him so beautiful.

He leaned in, eyes shut tight as their lips brushed and his breath hitched at the feel of warm breath on his face. He pressed forward; lips parting to coax, to deepen, to taste and suddenly Ron's hand was warm and heavy on his chest, over his thumping heart as it pressed.

"No…" Harry heard himself sigh.

Ron eyed the flames. "I can't do that again."

"Yeah." Harry whispered dazedly. "Sorry, I… sorry."

The fire blazed emerald and Ron was gone.

Harry stared at the empty space, finger tracing his lips as his vision clouded.


	11. Twentyfive

*See ch.1 for disclaimer.*

**Warnings:** Slash/Coarse Language/(Implied) Alcohol Use

*With special thanks to Euclidian: You're thoughts and time are appreciated and your input, invaluable.*

* * *

'_We were twenty-five and I hadn't so much as pecked his cheek; he cried as I dropped to one knee...'_

Three weeks.

Three weeks the cold metal had burned against his skin.

Three weeks the tiny band sat heavy on his heart.

Three weeks he'd held his every hope and dream, his love, his desire, wrapped round on itself, each containing the other; round and round forever, eternal, _l'infini._

Three weeks.

He'd waited and planned and rehearsed, needing the timing to be right and his words to be perfect.

But it was just a Friday night and they were both work-sore and tired; stocking feet propped atop the coffee table amidst empty bottles of beer with foam still clinging to the sides and the Cannon's match echoing off the walls of the sitting room.

Just another Friday night and Ron's hair was a mess and his eyes were wild and his grin was maniacal as the Cannons scored yet another goal; and Harry loved him.

_"…And the Cannon's score! That puts them in the lead, one-twenty to ninet…"_

Ron gaped at his friend in the sudden silence. "What the hell?!"

Harry dropped his wand to the table and slid off the couch to his knees, resting his hands on Ron's thighs as he stared up at him. "Ron…"

His senses quit him. The words he'd so carefully prepared died on his lips and he felt himself pierced by his gaze; those deep azure pools pulling him in so deeply, so fast, he feared he might drown and die happily.

"Harry."

_His_ name, whispered over pale, pink trembling lips and Harry allowed himself a moment to enjoy the thrill.

He dipped into his pocket and pulled forth the ring, offering it up with an unsteady hand and a whispered "I love you," and those blue eyes he loved so desperately veiled suddenly with a sheen of tears as Ron nodded dumbly and reached for him.

The kiss was like coming home.


	12. Twentysix

*See ch1. for disclaimer.*

**Warnings:** Slash/Coarse Language/ Tobacco Use

*With highest regards to Euclidian: I really must thank you again, for getting them back into focus and helping me hear; this chapter would not have been possible without you.*

* * *

_'__We were twenty-six and honeymooning in Italy; we didn't see the city until the last night, we had six years to make up for...'_

Harry stood on the balcony, leaned against the railing, a thin tendril of smoke coiling from the cherry tip of his cigarette; Ron wrapped his arms around his waist, resting his chin on his shoulder and breathed it all in.

The city at night, the bright lights stitched against the night sky like so many scattered jewels, the fragmented sounds of broken conversation, of music and laughter, the smell of the bistros; and Harry.

His husband.

The words echoed in his mind, trailing warmth down his spine to simmer in his belly; he smiled and pressed a kiss into dark, messy strands.

They'd been years together in the past, fucking like randy school boys, but they'd never truly been _together_. But tonight…

Tonight they'd made love, as they were learning to do. Not with hearts and flowers and feminine romance, no; it had been hot and hard and long and deep, thrilling and wild and passionate; everything he'd remembered, everything he'd loved and hated, transformed into something beautiful. And after he'd come and lay spent and sated in Harry's arms there was no ache, no fear, no question of his feelings, of his desire, of his devotion, of his _love_.

He reached out; lacing his left hand with Harry's where it rested against the rail, the golden bands sparkling in the moonlight. Harry sighed, leaning into him, and he could hear the smile in his voice.

"I love you." he whispered.

Ron smiled, "I know."


	13. Twentyseven

*See ch.1 for disclaimer.*

**Warnings:** Slash

*With thanks to Euclidian: for your tireless encouragement, support and eye for detail.*

* * *

_'We were twenty-seven and I was named Head Auror; we celebrated in a fashion closely related to my title in the cloakroom during my ceremony...'_

Fred and George had told them their sex life was doomed.

That, as a married couple, the novelty would soon wear thin as they had lost the illicitness of the act and that, even though they were still in their twenties, they may as well kiss spontaneity goodbye. It was all about correlating schedules now and recapping your day over instant meals at the coffee table; about late nights at the office and mortgage payments, sore muscles and tired minds. Marriage, they said, was the beginning of their new life together, and the end of romance.

If Harry had been capable of rational thought at the moment, it would have been something of smug satisfaction over having finally proven those mad men wrong; but he wasn't, and it was all he could do to keep the presence of mind enough not to scream as he came, reeling, down Ron's throat.

He tried not to blush too furiously at every utterance of the word 'head' during Kingsley's speech that evening.


	14. Twentyeight

*See ch.1 for disclaimer.*

**Warnings:** None

*With special thanks to Euclidian.*

* * *

_'__We were twenty-eight and it was the Anniversary; Hermione pierced the gloom and told us the insemination was successful...'_

The weather reflected his mood.

His eyes burned and his throat ached as he traced the letters etched in cold stone.

POTTER

"I'm sorry you're not here," He whispered brokenly.

And Ron was at his side; arm around his waist, holding him close, holding him up, holding him together. They stood in silence as the rain began to drizzle.

Hermione appeared, as though from the mist, to stand by her friends, her smile soft and demure as she took Harry's hand and placed it, palm flat, to rest below her navel. He turned his questioning gaze to search her face and smiled as she nodded silently.

Harry's eyes filled with tears; suddenly the day had become a lot brighter.


	15. Twentynine

*See ch.1 for disclaimer.*

**Warnings:** (Implied) Slash

*With special thanks to Euclidian.*

* * *

'_We were twenty-nine and crying our eyes out; our little girl said her first word..'._

Hermione said there was too much orange in their house; Ron said there was no such thing; and if there was one thing Harry was certain of it was that no one person on the planet was as ardent a fan of the Chudley Cannons as his husband.

The fact was driven home one quiet Saturday afternoon as Harry made himself comfortable on the sofa, Emily warm and wriggling in his arms, the wireless tuned to the match. Ron ambled into the sitting room, his faded Cannon's t-shirt, what had once been a violent orange now a warm pumpkin colour, faded by time and wear, stretched across his broad chest; he nearly fainted and Harry was torn between laughter and tears as Emily sat up, pointed across the room at her father and squealed. "Canno's!"


	16. Thirty

*See ch.1 for disclaimer.*

**Author's Note:**I am immensely relieved and yet saddened to see the end of this piece. Thanks to all of you who've reviewed, "_favourited_" and followed along with me on these boys' journey together.

**Warnings:** Slash/ Sexual Content/ Adult Themes

* * *

*Euclidian: I cannot thank you enough for your time, your patience, your insight, your respect and your encouragement; this piece truly would not be what it is without you. I can say, with all sincerity, that I am proud to have 'penned' this work, and that is in no small part because of you. With my utmost respect, and with fondest affection, I thank you.*

* * *

It was nights like this; when Emily, Hermione's bushy haired gift to the couple, was fast asleep in her trundle; when Ethan, Hermione's second gift, had been cradled into sweet slumber; when they stood, quiet and alone, a sea of crimson between them as Ron turned down the sheets and Harry stared across the bed as though gazing across a canyon, longing to touch him; it was nights like this he remembered.

Ron slid between the sheets, arms open, waiting, and Harry fell into them.

His kiss was gentle and coaxing and suddenly Harry was fifteen again; his heart stopped, his breath hitched, his every cell, every fibre alight with desire.

He followed Ron down, hot skin on cool sheets, legs spread wide and wanton; Ron smiled over him, fingers tracing familiar trails and he was sixteen again; stomach in knots, reveling in his desire and anticipation.

Ron thrust and Harry clung with arms and legs to his heavy, heaving frame and for a brief moment he was seventeen again; afraid of ever losing this, of losing him.

Ron nipped at his collarbone, his eyes bright, gaze playful as he flipped their position and Harry was nineteen; having fun and enjoying the ride.

When Ron reached for him, stroking with a practiced hand, bringing them both to the edge of ecstasy he was twenty-five again; completely enthralled and realizing all that he'd almost lost.

When Ron came, eyes wide, Harry's name on his trembling lips, Harry was twenty-six; proud to say he belonged to this man and honoured to know Ron belonged to him.

And as they settled in the silence, basking in the warmth of damp skin, in the comfort of strong, steady heartbeats, in the peace born of resolute knowledge of a love that was lived, breathed and reciprocated, he was simply Harry; husband, father, best mate and lover.

"_We are thirty and the room is quiet; Ron sighs and turns over in his sleep. I smile and pull him close, breath him in; cut grass, firewhiskey, baby powder, strained peas… the stuff of life, of our lives at least..._

_And it's perfect."_


End file.
